


Juno Steel and the Fox's Teeth

by anneapocalypse



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Begging, Biting, Bondage, Coming In Pants, Cuddling, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Grinding, Handcuffs, Light Impact Play, Orgasm Denial, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Prior Kink Negotiation, Role Playing, Role Reversal in a Kink Context, Sensation Play, Spanking, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23083900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: Ever since that night in his apartment, Juno's had some fantasies involving handcuffs.He and Nureyev decide to play with that.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 49
Kudos: 316





	Juno Steel and the Fox's Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> As season 3 continues killing me softly, please enjoy some more Porn with Feelings. This time with handcuffs.

"Has anyone ever told you…"

_Click._

"...that you're under arrest?"

Didn't plan on that part. The general idea, sure, they mapped all that out beforehand. But Juno hadn't planned on getting quite that… specific. It just sort of happened.

"Someone did once, in fact," Nureyev retorts, and the gleam in his dark eyes is familiar. Juno likes it even better now. "One night, long ago."

Juno snorts, gives the cuffs a slight tug. Nureyev insisted they use the real ones. Said it would be more fun that way. Juno lets a little bit of an edge into his voice when he says, "Don't get clever with me, Glass."

"Oh, Juno!" Nureyev says cheerfully, not bothering to suppress the delighted smirk on his smug, beautiful face. "I wouldn't dream of it."

It's funny how things come back to you. How frustrating, how… _maddening_ Nureyev used to be. The clinging scent of that cologne, those eyes, that smile… and Juno always wondering what was going on behind it.

It doesn't feel like that now. In fact it's almost strange to think of—now, when he finally, _finally_ feels like he knows the man behind that smile. Nureyev isn't confusing anymore.

Or maybe Juno just feels a lot less confused, in general.

But he can still call up that feeling, step into that role. Like slipping on an old coat.

He used to _hate_ how much he fantasized about the handcuffs. How Nureyev's teasing got under his skin, how the things he'd said came back to Juno and lingered in his mind, nights when he couldn't get to sleep. Which was most nights.

Juno shoves Nureyev backward into the faux-suede armchair, lime green with fraying seams. The decor aboard the _Carte Blanche_ is… something. Not sure if it's Buddy's tastes or whatever happened to be available and he's decided it's better not to ask. Nureyev sprawls easily into the chair, his glasses slightly askew on his nose. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he can't fix them. He cocks his head slightly to one side, and fixes Juno with a knowing smile.

"Planning to interrogate me yourself, Detective?"

Remember how it felt. Knowing he'd been tricked by a pretty face and a few sweet words. Lips like silk and the hands of a thief.

The anger, and the longing, all twisted together.

Juno puts the toe of his boot on the edge of the chair, between Nureyev's lanky legs.

"Detective, _please,"_ Nureyev says, in a voice that is extremely Rex Glass _,_ maybe even a little bit Duke Rose _._ "The _furniture."_

Juno edges his boot closer, and though that smile never slips, Nureyev shifts slightly in the chair.

Good.

"You're damn right I'm gonna interrogate you," Juno says, letting his voice slip down almost to a growl. "I'm gonna get everything I can out of you, Nureyev. I'm gonna get everything I _want_ out of you."

There's definitely a dark thrill, calling that feeling back up. It was real, at the time. Though if he's being honest—and he's really trying with that these days—he was lot more angry at himself.

There are things from his past that hang around like scar tissue, things that have hurt and hardened over and can be tough to move around. But they've never made him _weak._ Nureyev was different than that. The way he made Juno feel—it was something tender, vulnerable, somewhere he could be kicked by a world that's always looking for your weak spots.

And god, he hated that. Growing up in Hyperion City, you learn real quick that anywhere you show a gap in your armor, somebody's ready to stab you in it. So you close the gaps. You have to.

You can't be wishing you were still kissing the thief while the cops are hauling him away.

You can't be thinking of his eyes, his voice, his _hands_ on you, lying awake in the dark of a city always feeling for the gaps, a world just waiting to slide the blade home.

Peter Nureyev made him want to strip all his armor off, and in response, Juno put spikes on it. Did he ever really think Nureyev had gone to all the trouble to show up and work a job with him just so he could cut his throat in his sleep? It seems stupid now, but he can't say he _didn't_ believe that. Because wasn't that just what everyone was waiting to do?

In hindsight, it's… embarrassing. Not the distrust, not even the anger, but the way he lashed out at Nureyev, constantly. Like the backstab was inevitable, from this man with a fox's smile. The man who'd given him something he didn't yet understand.

All the time, Juno was the one with his teeth bared.

He hasn't really planned out what to say here, either. Just figured he'd improvise. In hindsight, maybe not the best idea. In his work, Juno Steel can think on his feet and take charge, sure. In the bedroom… well, he's more used to it going the other way.

But he doesn't want to lose their momentum, especially with Nureyev staring up at him like that. With eager, amused, expectant eyes.

So he says the first thing that comes into his head.

"How'd you get my safe key out of my pocket?"

That surprises Nureyev. His narrow, well-groomed eyebrows arch slightly, though the smile doesn't falter. "Surely you remember _that_ little trick, Detective. Though I'd be happy to demonstrate it again, if you wish."

Juno nudges the toe of his boot a little more cozily into Nureyev's crotch. Let him feel it. Make him squirm just a little. It's so _hot_ when he squirms. When he's caught just a little bit off-guard. "Oh, I remember _._ I mean the second time. After I cuffed you. You were never out of my sight. I felt you going for my pocket the first time, I _caught_ you. But the second time… I don't remember you ever getting your hands close enough to me. I never did figure out how you did it."

Nureyev doesn't try to inch his hips away this time. In fact he almost leans _in_ , pulling himself up straight and jingling the cuffs a little behind his back. He peers over the top of his glasses at Juno, and that gaze is _all_ Rex Glass right now, all sex and maddening amusement. "I could tell you, of course. But it would be so much more enjoyable if you'd work it out for yourself, Detective. Won't you indulge a captive man?"

Juno leans in close, putting his face inches from the embossed rim of Nureyev's glasses, askew and glittering with rhinestones at the temples. Juno's face stares back at him in distorted fragments where the light of the room glares off the lens, and that cologne hits him all over again. Spicy and floral, with a note of something faraway.

"Indulge you, huh? Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you."

The truth is, he really doesn't know the answer to this one. Not like it matters now, but that doesn't mean he's not curious. It works well enough for the game, anyway, he tells himself, and Nureyev looks like he's having a good time, and that's what matters here.

He's stalling, though. Trying to figure out what to say next, to keep the game going.

Juno takes his foot off the chair and replaces it with his knee for a slightly more comfortable position, still up in Nureyev's business as much as he can be. With one index finger, he nudges the bridge of the thief's glasses back into place. Nureyev's dark eyes never leave his.

"Oh, so kind of you, Detective. I was beginning to go cross-eyed."

Juno lays a hand right in the middle of Nureyev's chest and pushes him back in the chair again. Nureyev doesn't resist much. His dress shirt is black, silky, with a monotone floral pattern, two buttons undone. Something about that fabric, the heat of his body through its thin weave and the thought of pulling it off him—

Focus, Steel.

"I knew you'd go for the keys," Juno says. "The first time. I needed you to, in fact. I knew it was you, I just didn't have any _proof—"_

"Yes, yes, and so you _lured_ me back to your apartment with your feminine wiles," Nureyev says, affecting a wounded expression. "Why, I'd almost call it _entrapment_."

Juno can't help but snort. "Not quite how I remember it."

"Oh?" Nureyev says, utterly amused. "Do tell me what _you_ remember."

Juno puts on his best imitation of the Rex Glass voice. "Oh, Detective Steel, it's so _cold_ out here on the sidewalk. Won't you take me somewhere to warm up?"

"Mm. A passable impression," Nureyev says airily. "So you brought me home, poured us a drink to drown your misanthropy…"

"And you kissed me." It comes out softer than Juno means it to, the affect dropping for a moment. "Got your hand in my pocket."

"As of course you anticipated," Nureyev agrees. "I assumed at the time that was why you let me kiss you in the first place."

"Yeah," Juno mutters, "that was… what I told myself at the time, too."

Nureyev's grin widens. "Go on, Juno."

"I took the keys back from you." Juno drums his fingers against the back of the chair, remembering. "I put in the call to the HCPD. I—"

He stops.

It's so long ago now that he really _can't_ remember. Parts of that night are so vivid—the kiss, the hands pulling on his jacket. Glass being taken away in handcuffs, looking less distressed than he should have. And then the note, the public access feed, and that scent of cologne that lingered in his apartment.

But there is something. Not a memory, but a blank space. Not what he remembers doing, but what he doesn't.

_Where did he put the damn keys?_

The sharp upturn of Nureyev's smile is knowing.

"Of course I could not simply take them back from you, not while we were alone. You would be expecting that."

"God damn it," Juno says. "Where did I—"

"On your coffee table," Nureyev says breezily. "When you reached for your comms. Along with, conveniently, the key to your handcuffs, though that was mostly just luck. I had to wait until your friends from the HCPD arrived, of course. It was quite a useful distraction, you calling them. And it was _much_ easier to give those officers the slip than it would have been _you_ , Juno. So there you have it."

Nureyev rises suddenly from the chair, forcing Juno to stumble backward. He draws both hands out from behind his back, the cuffs dangling open from one wrist. Even as he moves in on Juno, teeth bared in a ferocious grin, one hand catches Juno's shoulder, steading him—then grips his collar. Juno takes another instinctive step backward as Nureyev moves into his space, and he's suddenly very aware of Nureyev's greater height, looming over him, closing in. "I didn't pick your pocket twice, Juno. You never put the keys back _in_ your pocket at all."

It's probably true. It at least has the ring of something that _could_ be true.

By the time he's processed that, Nureyev has him backed up to the wall by the cabin door.

Nureyev removes the cuff from his other hand and Juno's hands go instinctively to his pockets, and that's where Nureyev catches them, deftly turning him around and pushing him up against the wall.

"All that being said, my dear Detective, one _does_ try to avoid getting caught the same way twice." He strips Juno's coat from his shoulders, tossing it over a nearby chair, and Juno hears the brief jingle of keys from the pocket.

"Damn it, you didn't even have to pick my pocket. You still had the cuff key you took from me all that time ago…"

Nureyev chuckles, leaning in a little, his weight pinning Juno against the wall. It's kind of unbearably hot, and Juno can already feel his breath quickening, heat rushing between his legs. "Oh, goodness, no. Don't be offended, love, but I've never been one for keepsakes. A standard handcuff key is simply a useful tool of the trade. Had you checked my pockets, you'd have found it, and I'd have had to get a bit more creative."

Juno makes a face at him over his shoulder. "Still sounds like cheating."

"Did you learn nothing from Rangian Street Poker, darling? Cheating is simply part of the game."

It is part of the game, and they both know exactly what to say to make the game stop. There isn't any doubt in Juno's mind that Nureyev would stop if he said it, and there also isn't any part of him that wants it to stop.

In fact he's suddenly enjoying it a lot more, now that Nureyev has him pinned against the wall. Now that Nureyev's calling the shots. Now that it's up to him to keep things moving.

It's a relief, actually.

He puts in a passable struggle, squirming a little just to force Nureyev to hold him tighter. There's definitely a part of him that wouldn't mind much if Nureyev said to hell with the game, and just took him against the wall right this minute.

But he's really interested in seeing what happens with those handcuffs.

Nureyev surprises him by releasing his wrists, instead sliding cool hands up under Juno's sweater, making him shiver. "This will have to go as well," he murmurs, and quickly tugs the sweater up, and his undershirt along with it. Thinking ahead. Juno probably wouldn't have had the foresight. One more reason he's not in charge here.

He lets himself be stripped from the waist up and turned around with his back to the wall, but puts up a little more struggle for the handcuffs. Mostly, so he can take the opportunity to push up against Nureyev's hips and grope him a little before Nureyev can snap the steel cuffs around his wrists and chide him, "Watch those _hands,_ dear," in his most scandalized Monsieur Dauphin voice.

"Fine," Juno says, with all the petulance of the wayward Madame _,_ both hands curled into fists _,_ "you've got me. What do you plan to do with me, huh?"

Nureyev makes a considering noise, and his eyes dart up, and with one quick motion pulls Juno's arms up by the cuffs and loops the chain over the coat hook set high on the wall. He planned this, Juno realizes, all of it, down to the last step, he knew _exactly_ how to back Juno into this precise spot. "This will do just fine, I think."

And then Nureyev kisses him.

It's sudden enough to take Juno's breath away and for a moment he forgets everything else—the keys, the cuffs, even the game itself. Everything but the softness of his lips, the grip of his hands on Juno's hips and the feeling of being trapped between his body and the wall.

"It seems," Nureyev says silkily, breaking the kiss at last, his hands lingering on Juno, "that I can do whatever I like to you. Wouldn't you agree?"

Somehow the whole tone of the room has shifted—and not just because Nureyev's hand has found the dimmer switch by the door, lowering the light a few notches. It's still a game, but the game has changed. Nureyev's voice is as theatrical as ever, but the role he is playing is no longer Rex Glass or Duke Rose or Monsieur Dauphin or any of his many alter egos.

It is only Peter Nureyev, and the question, though part of the performance, is also real.

"Yeah," Juno says, a little breathless. "Yeah, I'd say so."

A smile breaks across Nureyev's face—that familiar, sharp, deliberate smile, the fox's grin. This, too, is part of Peter Nureyev.

And Juno wants all of him. Badly. Right down to his teeth.

"Now then," Nureyev says brusquely, though Juno can see a faint flush lingering in his cheeks. He passes a hand lightly over the front of Juno's pants, and Juno shudders a little. He's been slowly hardening since Nureyev pinned him, and the light, teasing touch only pushes him further. Nureyev hooks a fingernail into the button and pops it, grinning toothily at Juno, who tries not to squirm under that carnivorous gaze.

Nureyev leans his elbow on the wall, looming over Juno, as he slowly drags down his zipper. Fingers creep under the waistband of his briefs, the tips of his nails scraping lightly over his ass, then diving lower to tease the crease of his thigh.

"Do you _know_ ," Nureyev says in a low voice, "do you have any _idea,_ how beautiful you are?"

He yanks Juno's pants to his knees in one fast, rough motion. Hooks his index fingers into the waistband of his briefs and drags them down after. Drops to one knee—it's really something how Nureyev can still look commanding even on his knees—and with a tap of his fingernails on the back of Juno's knee, prompts him to lift one leg and then the other so he can strip him completely.

Juno shivers, and Nureyev straightens back up, looking him up and down with a pleased smile.

"Ah," he says, "now that is much better."

He closes in again, comes so close Juno feels the silky fabric of his shirt against his chest, the fly of his dress slacks _just_ brushing up against his dick. No pressure, no real _touch,_ just maddeningly light sensation that has Juno feeling acutely just how naked and exposed and _helpless_ he is.

His dick twitches, fully hard now.

Cool hands caress his jaw, tip his face up to meet Nureyev's in a hungry kiss. The points of his teeth drag against Juno's lower lip as he breaks away, leaving Juno breathless again.

He feels Nureyev's long fingers on his throat, the smooth rounded tips of his nails grazing his Adam's apple and the soft place above it. He thinks, with strange deliberation, of all the places you can cut a person's neck or throat, all the access points to the arteries that will bleed you dry in under a minute.

And he bares every vulnerable point to Nureyev, his breath coming quick and shaky.

"Look at you," Nureyev says softly. "Look at you, so beautiful and all mine."

He presses a kiss to the soft part of Juno's throat, and Juno shivers all the way to his core as Nureyev's mouth opens wider and he feels the wet of his tongue, and then the points of his incisors putting gentle but undeniable pressure on his skin.

Juno tries to say something, and it just comes out a gasp.

"I could do anything I want to you, like this," Nureyev whispers, his fingers caressing the curve of Juno's throat, tracing his collarbone, sliding around the back of his neck. "Anything at all. Anything I want." Another kiss, under his jaw, soft and wet. "Juno, love. Look at me, please."

Only then Juno realizes he's closed his eyes.

When he opens them, Nureyev is inches from his face, dark eyes liquid in the dim light. Glasses off, which somehow softens his whole face, even the sharp curve of his mouth. No smirk now. Just a serious, thoughtful look. "Do you know what I want, Juno?"

Juno finds his voice. "Tell me."

The smirk flickers back for a brief second. "Manners, love."

"Tell me, _please._ "

"Lovely. Much better." Nureyev slides his palm along Juno's jaw. "I want to make you happy _,_ Juno. I want to take care of you. I want to make you feel so good."

Juno feels flushed, hot head to toe. His skin tingles everywhere Nureyev isn't touching him, and he wants nothing more than those hands, that mouth on his skin.

Nureyev leans in close, his lips just barely brushing Juno's, and whispers, "I want you to come for me."

And then he pulls away, sets his glasses back in place with a flourish and smiles the full fox smile. "And I'm going to make you _beg_ for it."

It really does feel a little like being devoured, Nureyev's teeth and tongue working over his neck and down to his collarbone. Devoured in the best way. Savored, Juno thinks through the haze of arousal, watching the dip of Nureyev's head out of the corner of his eye. Nureyev's dark hair is smooth and glossy, and smells faintly of pomade. He's still wearing his earrings. He hasn't undone so much as a button of his shirt since they started.

Nureyev's mouth leaves him, suddenly, and Juno makes a quiet noise of displeasure.

"You said you'd thought about this a lot," Nureyev says thoughtfully, sliding a hand up Juno's arm—the touch on the underside of his forearm makes him shiver—and tracing the curve of the handcuffs. He's still right up in Juno's face, but not quite looking at him. Not touching him now, just the cuffs. "I'd like to hear more about that."

"What about it?"

"Oh, perhaps _when_ you'd think about it."

"At night."

"Mm. And what would you do," Nureyev says, his fingernails grazing the inside of Juno's wrist, "when you thought about it?"

Juno swallows. "Get myself off."

Nureyev laughs softly. "Oh, Juno. I'm sure you can tell it to me prettier than that."

"Fine. I'd—think about you and those handcuffs. At night, when I was—when I couldn't sleep. I'd think about you."

"And?"

Juno lets out a nervous breath of laughter. He's not… embarrassed exactly. He shouldn't be, by now. Something about that simple fantasy, though, it just makes him feel more… exposed.

He's looked inside Nureyev's head. Seen things he should never have been _able_ to see in the first place. And Nureyev let him. Willingly.

He's opened up, stripped himself bare so many times. Juno can give him this. Even if he feels stupid doing it.

He takes a deep breath. Pretty. Tell it pretty. Make it hot. "I'd close my eyes. Remember that smell of your cologne. Wasn't hard, it—" He laughs. "It stank up my apartment for weeks." Nureyev lets out what sounds like a breath of laughter. "Like you were right around every corner. No wonder I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"And?" Nureyev breathes, next to his ear. Juno can feel his breath. His lips must be so close.

"And—your lips. That kiss, it—stuck to me. Even when I was cuffing you I wanted to be kissing you."

"What else?" Nureyev says, encouraging.

He's on a roll now. He's got this. "Your hands, I—kept thinking about your hands in my pocket. And—when I touched myself I'd imagine it was your hands." Juno shivers. "I'd try to go slow. I knew you'd tease me. Take your time."

"Mm," Nureyev agrees, and kisses the shell of his ear and Juno moans softly, tipping his head into the touch, wanting more. Teeth scrape over his ear, almost hard enough to hurt, and then his earlobe is bitten and sucked on and Juno moans louder.

"Nureyev, please, I—I just want you to touch me."

"Mmm." He can _feel_ that smile against his neck as Nureyev kisses behind his ear. "You wanted that for so long, didn't you?"

"Yes," Juno murmurs. "I want you. I want this. Please."

Nureyev laughs, low and self-satisfied. "Oh, Juno. You think all you have to say is _please?"_

Juno swallows. "You said—"

"I said I was going to make you _beg,_ Juno." Nureyev catches his chin suddenly in one wiry hand, and looks down at him rather severely. "And I meant it."

"Oh god," Juno says. "You're going to torture me, aren't you. You bastard."

Nureyev's smile is haughty now. Fully Duke Rose. When he says, " _Language_ , darling," Juno almost hears _Dahlia._

Juno snorts. "You bastard, _please."_

Nureyev clicks his tongue and lets go of him, stepping back, maddeningly. "Oh, Juno, you really are incorrigible. But beautiful to look at nonetheless." He cocks one hip and folds his arms in a thoughtful pose, bringing one hand to his chin. "Why, I could just stand here and... admire you."

Juno squirms, squeezing his right fist tight. "Yeah, yeah, take a picture already."

"That could also be arranged. Not a bad idea, in fact."

" _Nureyev_."

But as his eye refocuses, Juno can see clearly the bulge at the front of Nureyev's black slacks. He exhales. Fuck, that's hot. Just thinking about that. That underneath all his control and composure, Nureyev's just as turned on as he is.

Nureyev wants Juno _just_ as badly as Juno wants him.

He rubs his thumb over his lower lip and winks. "I _do_ like hearing you say _please,_ though, darling."

Juno exhales loudly. "Will you _please_ get back here and touch me?"

"Hmm," Nureyev says, looking unbearably smug. "Well. It's a start."

It's much better when he's close again, so close Juno can feel the heat coming off his body as he smiles his toothy smile in Juno's face, just barely out of reach of his lips. Puts his hands on Juno's wrists again and Juno thinks, fleetingly, how much he likes that sensation, being held down by Nureyev's hands, they should do more with _that_ sometime…

Those hands travel down, fingernails tickling under his arms and making him squirm. Nureyev stoops, dips his head again and Juno tips his head back against the wall with a pleased moan as Nureyev's tongue circles his nipple, followed by a bite hard enough to hurt a little. Just enough. Makes him gasp, arch his hips forward, but Nureyev of course keeps his body out of reach. His mouth moves to the other side, and Juno shivers, tries to relax into the sensation.

Fingers climb down the rungs of his ribcage. Followed by lips, tongue, teeth. Nureyev reaches his hipbone and gives it a pointed bite before moving to the other side of him again, still carefully avoiding even the slightest touch on his dick, flushed dark and hard.

For the moment, Juno's enjoying all the touching, but he can already feel how easily that teasing is going to turn agonizing.

"Mmm," Nureyev murmurs, rising. "Lovely. You are so lovely, Juno." He reaches up to unhook the cuffs. "Turn around for me, please. I've a whole other side of you to appreciate."

Juno turns pliantly to face the black-and-white quatrefoil wall paneling, which is even louder up close. He doesn't even make a show of a fight, all his nerves alive with anticipation. Nureyev keeps his arms down a moment, murmurs "Move your fingers for me, darling," and Juno does so a little impatiently, flexing one hand and then the other. It's sweet to be taken care of like that, though… that in itself is kind of hot. For those few moments, Nureyev is wrapped around him, warm and solid against his back, and Juno admires the long, elegant hands holding him, as much he savors the feeling of Nureyev's very hard dick pressed against his ass.

He's hooked back up at last, and Juno takes a deep breath. It's already less comfortable facing the wall. He kind of leans on his elbows, his lower body arched away from the wall a little, and the effect is probably his ass on prime display.

Juno can't see Nureyev anymore—can't watch that hungry gaze consuming every inch of him.

But he knows it is, can almost _feel_ it, a tingle down his spine.

Hands come to rest loosely on his hips. He's aroused enough that even that touch feels more intense, and Juno thinks again about Nureyev just fucking him against the wall right now. He wouldn't say no.

Then that mouth is on his neck again. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. Juno tilts his head to give him room, breathing heavily.

"You like that, don't you?" Nureyev hisses into his skin. "You like it when it hurts a little."

Juno's knees shake, and he clenches both fists. "Yeah. Yeah, I like that."

The satisfied laugh that follows is hot on his ear, and then an open palm lands a light, stinging slap on his ass.

They talked all this through, but he'd almost forgotten, and fuck is he glad Nureyev didn't.

Nureyev's palm lands again, and Juno moans.

"Yes?"

_"Yes."_

Another slap.

And another.

It feels so good. Juno's ass tingles and then burns with the building heat, and his cock throbs with every impact. He doesn't even mean to, it just slips out of his mouth— "Harder."

There is a slight hesitation, a break in the rhythm before the next blow comes, but it comes, and lands with a little more impact. The burn deepens, and Juno tips his forehead against the wall and moan, "Fuck— _fuck,_ yes, please—"

Nureyev gives him a few more, pausing just long enough between each slap to let the sensation really sink in. He's good at this. It's almost disappointing when he stops, just because Juno would happily take more. He's just hitting that nice haze of endorphins and the pain hasn't yet stopped feeling good. Nureyev runs a gentle hand down his back, pausing to smooth his palm over the sting. "So, so good, Juno. You are so beautiful, and so good for me."

The praise washes over him in a wave of warmth and pleasure, and he almost doesn't notice the touch leaving him, Nureyev stepping away, until he hears footsteps returning, the pop of a cap and a wet, liquid sound.

He draws in a deep breath in anticipation, just as a hand comes back to rest on his hip and slick fingers slide along the cleft of his ass, rubbing with a firm pressure, and then opening him up.

The stretch is a little sudden, and burns a little, but it's still a good pain. Juno leans his forehead on the wall and breathes his way through it, squeezing his fist to the rhythm of Nureyev's strokes as he adjusts.

And just as he's getting used to it, Nureyev's fingertips press against his prostate and Juno lets out a sharp, involuntary noise, his body almost curling in on itself, or wanting to, if he wasn't held in place by the handcuffs.

He feels a soft, satisfied laugh against his ear.

"Please," Juno breathes.

Nureyev's fingers tease the spot. Relentlessly. He backs off for just a few seconds before honing right back in. Does it again. And again. The pressure is just enough to feel good, the rhythm just a little too slow. It's good. It's also _agonizing._

"Oh, god, fuck, I," Juno gasps, "Nureyev—" The name comes out rough and slurred.

Nureyev purrs at his ear, "Yes, sweetheart?"

"God damn it—" Juno groans, arching his hips trying to get more pressure. Or less. Or something. His cock aches, still untouched, and he wants to come so badly, needs to, and he _can't._

It's not even that he can't come just from being fingered. He _can_ , and Nureyev fucking knows it.

He's just not _letting_ him.

"Please," Juno breathes, feeling sweat roll off his forehead.

He feels the fox's smile at his throat.

"Please _what,"_ Nureyev growls.

"Please let me come," Juno hisses through his teeth, writhing at the maddeningly slow, gentle pressure of his touch.

The movement of his fingers slows. "Say it again."

"Please let me fucking come—"

"Again, but nicer."

_"Nureyev."_

Nureyev presses into the spot hard, and Juno's vision whites out for a moment, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Please, fuck, please, Nureyev, just let me—"

And Nureyev pulls his fingers out.

Juno lets out something halfway between a sob and a laugh. "You absolute bastard, I'll—"

A hand closes over the cuffs, freeing them momentarily from the coathook. Juno's fists clench.

 _"Around,"_ Nureyev says fiercely, and the very instant Juno is facing him he slams their bodies together against the wall.

The pressure of Nureyev's body against his is such a relief Juno almost sobs. He doesn't even really mean to, he just pushes hard against him and comes, a blinding-hot orgasm he grinds out against Nureyev's hips until he's spent and shuddering against the wall. He registers the answering shudder of Nureyev's body only in the moments after, as they sag against each other, twitching and breathing heavily.

Juno's vision coming back in bright spots, and Nureyev straightens up slightly, one hand against the wall supporting himself. Eyes blown wide, still panting, and the wet patch at the front of his pants is too wide to be all Juno, which makes him smirk with satisfaction.

"You're a mess," he says affectionately.

Nureyev huffs. "Look who's talking." But his lips curve into a smile as he straightens up. "Let's get you out of these." He reaches up, unhooks the cuffs and brings Juno's arms down in front of him, reaches into his pocket with one hand, and for the first time this evening, looks genuinely perplexed. "Juno—"

Juno opens his right hand to reveal the key he's had closed in his fist. "Looking for something?"

Oh, he's been _waiting_ for this moment. Thought for sure he was going to get caught slipping the key from one hand to the other when he had to wiggle his fingers. Nureyev's shocked blink is worth every bit of the effort.

"You," Nureyev says, _"picked_ my _pocket."_

"Told you I wasn't half bad."

"You've had that the whole time," Nureyev says. "Juno, you scoundrel." He takes the key from Juno's palm, unlocking the cuffs. "You could have turned the tables on me anytime you liked, you know. I'd have played along."

"I know I could have." Juno rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck from side to side, and smiles. "Didn't want to."

Nureyev gives his head a slight shake, but his smile is full of affection as he leans in for a long, lingering kiss. Juno threads a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, and with a smooth waxy feel from the product he puts in it. The scent of it mingles with the stronger scent of cologne and sweat and sex—all of it together musky and sweet and familiar.

He leads Juno back to the bed, where they sit, and he takes Juno's wrists and checks them over, rubbing gently where the cuffs have left indents. Feels nice. "You enjoyed all of that, then?"

Juno lets out a laugh. "More than enjoyed." He smirks. "Looks like you did, too. Hope you've got a spare outfit for tomorrow."

"I'm sure I can find a suitable cleaner when we dock," Nureyev says airily, stepping up from the bed to shed the pants, and his shirt as well. Juno takes a long swallow of water from the glass conveniently placed on the bedside table—Nureyev really did plan ahead for this. It's nice. Being taken care of like this.

Nureyev comes back with a couple of hand towels to clean themselves up, and then they slide under the covers together and Nureyev pulls Juno against his chest, folding both arms around him. He's a cuddler, Juno has found. More so than you might expect. Not that he's complaining. It's nice. Really nice. Especially after something so intense. Tiredness is creeping over him, and there's some soreness in his arms and other places. Sinking into Peter's warmth, curling tight against him, Juno feels wrapped in a soft haze of comfort and contentment.

It's not as scary as it used to be. That sense of comfort, of… safety. Even if there isn't really any such thing as safe, certainly not in the life they're living now. Even if he can't totally feel like he deserves it.

But when he tilts his head to catch a glimpse of Peter's face, none of that matters.

Peter's dark hair is messy where it falls against the pillow by his forehead, his eyes are half-lidded, and his lips are parted slightly, just barely enough for a glint of light to catch the point of his incisor. Juno knows he could bring back that fox's smile in an instant. But there is something about this sleepy, contented Peter Nureyev—not performing, unconcerned with how his face looks, or who is watching him.

When he catches Juno's eye, his lips curve into a slight smile, but his face stays relaxed.

It's not about what Juno _deserves_ anymore. It really isn't. It's more even than wanting him, wanting to wake up next to this man with every turn of the nearest sun.

Juno Steel wants to see that look of pure, unguarded happiness and peace on Peter Nureyev's face every damn day of their lives.

He wants it more than anything.

Juno returns a smile of his own, settles his cheek back against Nureyev's chest, and closes his eyes.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
